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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

Chap. Copyright No. 

Shelf.j:U 6 /> s 7 

— ie95 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



SONNETS 



AND 



A DREAM 



BY 



WILLIAM REED HUNTINGTON 




THE MARION PRESS 

Jamaica, Queensborough, New-York 

1899 

L 






•>/2t89 



Copyright, 1898, 
By William Reed Huntington. 



( DE0 37'tot^a )\ 






NOTE. 

The Author's acknowledgments are due to the Pub- 
lishers of The Century, Harper'' s Monthly, Harper'' s 
Weekly, The Outlook, and The Spectator for permis- 
sion to reprint such of his Sonnets as were originally 
contributed to the pages of the periodicals named. 
With respect to the Sonnet ^' Does America hate 
England?''^ it is proper to say that it was written 
while the animosities enkindled by the Venezuela dis- 
pute were still flagrant, and long before the billing and 
cooing with which the international atmosphere is now 
so resonant had begun; in fact, a London journalist 
had at the time opened his columns to a solemn dis- 
cussion of the question which gives the poem its title. 

W. R. H. 



CONTENTS. 

SONNETS. 

Sonnets of Earth and Sky. 
Tellus 

The Cold Meteorite . 
Love's Orbit 
Authority 

Sonnets of Country. 

Does America hate England ? 
The White Squadron 
After Santiago 

Sonnets of Doubt and Faith. 
No More Sea 
Free Will? . 
Anima naturaliter Christiana 
Jael .... 

Jael and Mary 
Renunciation . 
"Visiting God'' . 
The Face of Things . 
The Heart of Things 
Lowlands 



12 

H 

17 
18 

19 



23 

24 

25 
26 

27 
28 
29 
30 

31 

32 



Sonnets of Friendship. 



Late Harvests .... 


• 35 


Isaac ..... 


36 


Isaac and Rebekah 


• 37 


" Among the Kings " 


38 


Cypress and Holly 


• 39 


The House Mother of St. Faith's 


40 


The Plough in the Furrow 


. 41 


From Green Mountain, I . 


42 


From Green Mountain, II 


• 43 


Garonda .... 


44 


The Golden Wedding . 


• 45 



THE CHILD'S SUPREMACY. A Dream. 49 



SONNETS. 



SONNETS OF EARTH AND SKY. 



TELLUS. 

Why here, on this third planet from the Sun, 

Fret we and smite against our prison-bars ? 

Why not in Saturn, Mercury, or Mars 
Mourn we our sins, the things undone and done ? 
Where was the soul's bewildering course begun ? 

In what sad land among the scattered stars 

Wrought she the ill which now for ever scars 
By bitter consequence each victory won ? 
I know not, dearest friend, yet this I see. 

That thou for holier fellowships wast meant. 
Through some strange blunder thou art here ; and we 

Who on the convict ship were hither sent. 
By judgment just, must not be named with thee 

Whose tranquil presence shames our discontent. 



THE COLD METEORITE. 

While through our air thy kindling course was run 

A momentary glory filled the night ; 

The envious stars shone fainter, for thy light 
Garnered the wealth of all their fires in one. 
Ah, short-lived splendor ! journey ill-begun ! 

Half-buried in the Earth that broke thy flight. 

No longer in thy broidered raiment dight. 
Here liest thou dishonored, cold, undone. 
**Nay, critic mine, far better 't is to die 

<*The death that flashes gladness, than alone, 
*«In frigid dignity, to live on high; 

"Better in burning sacrifice be thrown 
*' Against the world to perish, than the sky 

"To circle endlessly a barren stone." 



i^ 



LOVE'S ORBIT. 

The punctual Earth unto the self-same bound 

Whence she essayed, a twelve-month gone, to run 
Her planetary course about the sun. 

To-day returneth, having filled her round. 

Yet in her heart no fretful thought is found 
That she must needs re-seek the prizes won. 

Afresh begin the task so oft begun ; 

Joyous she hears the starter's trumpet sound. 

So, sweet heart, though Love's travel, year by year. 
Must ever through remembered spaces lie. 
Streaked with monotony of day and night, — 

Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter, — have no fear; 
For we shall love Love's orbit, thou and I, 
And in the blessed sameness find delight. 



AUTHORITY. 

Launched upon ether float the worlds secure. 

Naught hath the truthful Maker to conceal. 

No trestle-work of adamant or steel 
Is that high firmament where these endure. 
Patient, majestic, round their cynosure 

In secular procession see them wheel ; 

Self-poised, but not self-centered, for they feel 
In each tense fibre one all conquering lure. 
And need I fret me. Father, for that Thou 

Dost will the weightiest verities to swing 

On viewless orbits ? Nay, henceforth I cleave 
More firmly to the Credo ; and my vow 

With readier footstep to thine altar bring. 

As one who counts it freedom to believe. 



SONNETS OF COUNTRY. 



"DOES AMERICA HATE ENGLAND?" 

1897. 

Dare to love England ? And to say so ? Yes. 

Though the Celt rage, and every half-breed scowl ; 

Though Hun and Finn and Russ and Polack howl 
Their malediction, coddled by a Press 
Alert at cursing, indolent to bless, 

Unheedy which shall prosper, fair or foul. 

So that the trough run over, and a growl 
Of fierce approval soothe its restlessness. 
For from thy loins, O Mother, sped the souls 

That dreamed the greater England. Not in vain 
Their sweat of blood. To-day the smoke-cloud rolls 

Off high Quebec, while from the Spanish Main 
The requiem-bell of buried empire tolls, — 

Their old world's loss, our new world's affluent gain. 



THE WHITE SQUADRON. 

1897. 

Far in the offing, sharp against the blue. 

Six firm-webbed, stately swans they hold their way. 

Skirting Mount Desert of an August day. 
Cruiser and battleship in sequence due. 
On dress-parade, slow-steaming for review. 

Which destiny is theirs ? Only to play 

At war ? Or likelier, shall we say. 
For cause, at last, their long reserve break through ? 
Yet, should the guns of the Republic speak, 

I would they spake with judgment. Be their lips 

Mutely indifferent to the Jingo's nod. 
Stern towards the cruel, potent for the weak. 

Aflame to guard the honor of the ships. 

And shotted with the arguments of God. 



AFTER SANTIAGO. 

1898. 

With folded arms, my Country, speak thy will. 

Clean be those hands of thine from smirch of trade. 

Let the sheathed sword hang idle. They persuade 
The baser course, who, not content to kill. 
Would carve out cantles of the spoil, and fill 

The sacred edge of that victorious blade 

With stain of plunder. Never was there made 
The sword that could be knife and weapon still. 
Thou sawest God's angel at the anvil stand 

And forge the steel. He smote it blow on blow. 

Wrathful he seemed ; yet ever from above 
He stooped, the while, and swiftly dipt the brand 

In tears, yea, tears ; that he might make thee know 

How vain were vengeance unannealed by love. 



SONNETS OF 
DOUBT AND FAITH, 



*'NO MORE SEA/' 

Unrest my birthright is. I cannot choose 

But rock and toss at angry ocean's will. 

For if, at times, my shallop lying still 
Seem somewhat of its restlessness to lose, 
'T is but a sign that balanced on the wave 

It for a moment hangs, the next to fall 

Deep in the trough where many a dolorous call 
Of tempest-voices mocks the untimely grave. 
Meanwhile, I sit beside the helm and mark 

The scanty stars that peer amid the rifts ; 
Nor loosen hold ; it may be that my barque 

Shall come at last to where God's city lifts 
Her lucid walls, and beckoneth through the dark ; 

*« There shall be no more sea," her best of gifts. 



23 



FREE WILL? 

Eastward the vessel plunged ; her high-flung spray 
A trysting-place for rainbows ; every thrill 
And throb of the huge monster winning still 
For the tossed cloud some newly-broken ray 
From the cold sunshine of that autumn day ; 
Type, thought I, of the phantasies which fill 
These hearts of ours, persuading that **I will" 
Is somewhat other than plain **I obey." 
Then, ere the prow had scaled another ridge. 

Murmuring **At least this deck's length must be 

free," 
And thinking to pique Fate by counter-choice. 
Westward I walked; but Fate still conquered me; 
"Due East ! " the captain thundered from the 

bridge. 
"Due East it is. Sir," came the steersman's voice. 



24 



ANIMA NATURALITER CHRISTIANA. 

(TertuUian: Apologia, c. XVII. ) 

High in a corner of my study, glooms 

A nut-brown corbel, rough-hewn out of teak. 
From some far island fetched where traders seek 

Wealth of rare spices, languorous perfumes. 

Gems, and the silken yield of antique looms 
By dusky fingers tended. With her beak 
Deep in her breast, a pelican, the meek 

Type of that mother-love which gladly dooms 
Itself to perish, if so be the brood 

Die not, is seen, puissant, trampling down 

Man's foe, the dragon. Surely the swart clown. 
Who skilled this marvel, mystic vision caught 

Of that which precious makes the precious blood ; 

Proven a Christian by the work he wrought. 



25 



JAEL. 

** Blessed above women shall Jael the wife of Heber the Kenite 
be, blessed shall she be above women in the tent." Judges i^, 2^. 

What? ** Blessed above women in the tent" 
Shall Jael, Heber's wife, the Kenite be? 
A murderess blessed ? Nay, no murderess she ; 

Judith and Charlotte on like errand went. 

Doubtless some angel of God's wrath had sent 
The tyrant to her, should his voiceless plea, — 
"I am thy guest," avail to hold him free 
From the sharp stroke of long-earned punishment? 

Nay, mercy for the merciless were waste ; 
Not thus doth Israel's jealous God requite. 
Whoso sheds blood of man, upon his head 

Falls doom of blood. Then, stealthily, in haste. 
She grasped the hammer, smote the nail with might. 
And, lo, there at her feet lay Sisera dead. 



26 



JAEL AND MARY. 

*' And the angel came in unto her and said, Hail thou that art 
highly favored, the Lord is with thee ; blessed art thou among 
women." St. Luke i, 28. 

Yes, Blessed above ** women in the tent." 

But Time hath struck the tent and built the home. 

The benediction lapses. She is come 
Who sets the loftier mark. Old veils are rent. 
And far predictions cleared by late event. 

As mist of morning, as the light sea-foam. 

Passes the glory of the tribes that roam. 
And all the force of Jael's blow is spent. 
Come Mary with thy lily, with thy dove ; 

Thy better blessing, more effulgent day. 

Forgotten be the hammer and the nail. 
Come, guide us with the sceptre of thy love : 
Stronger the lips that plead than hands that slay. 

Kenite, Farewell ! Mother of Jesus, Hail ! 



27 



RENUNCIATION. 

I looked at sunset forth upon the lake. 

And said with scorn, <* *T is scarcely hard for them 
** To boast their dullness and this world contemn 

"Who love not beauty for her own sweet sake. 

**But as for me a mightier Christ must wake 
"In all my veins, and from his garment's hem 
"A virtue pass not hid in graven gem, 
**Ere I such sweet enchantment can forsake." 

For all the West was golden on the hill ; 

And down the slope the bowered gardens lay. 

With blossoms red, just silvered where the rill 

Dropt towards the lake, and dropping seemed to say, 

"Cease thy vain struggle, self-deceived will; 
**Thy fetters learn to love, thy fate obey.'* 



28 



VISITING GOD. 

My duty towards God is to believe in Him, to fear Him, and to 
love Him, with all my heart, with all my mind, with all my soul, 
and with all my strength : .... to call upon Him : 

Church Catechism. 

''Towards God, what is thy duty, Margo dear?'' 
"My duty is to love Him," she replied, 
"With heart and mind and soul, with strength 
beside : 
"To worship Him, to give Him thanks, to fear, 
"To visit Him,"— <* Nay, child, the word is here 
"To 'call on' Him." "Well, Auntie, have it so; 
"They mean the same." Thus art thou taught to 
know. 
Sad soul of mine, a lesson wondrous clear. 
Grass-grown the path and tangle-tost with thorn. 

That leadeth to his threshold Who hath said, 

"Come, for the feast is ready, come to Me." 
For I have feared Thee, Father, and forlorn 
Have dwelt afar, an-hungered for thy bread ; 
But now, heart-whole, I rise to 



29 



THE FACE OF THINGS. 

I hearkened to the preacher from his perch 
Glibly declaring the great Maker good ; 
The ban a blessing if but understood ; 

The frown a smile ; the seeming-evil lurch 

Of Nature's gait a steady walk to church. 
Did we but read her motions as we should. 
God had made all things beautiful, — and could 

A weightier proof of goodness crown our search ? 

I looked; — a shaft of random sunshine, shot 
Across the listeners, chanced to smite a face, 
Alas, too well remembered. In the array 

Of loveliest women lovelier there is not, — 

And yet a tigress. "Priest," I cried, **Thy case 
**Is argued ill ; the hard fact says thee Nay !** 



30 



THE HEART OF THINGS. 

Thick sprang the briers about her tender feet. 

On either side and underneath they grew ; 

She murmured not, but with a courage true 
Pressed on as if the pathway had been sweet. 
And now and then she stooping plucked a thorn. 

And wove it in the meshes of her hair. 

«'Hath she no gems that she should choose to wear 
"So sharp a diadem?" they asked in scorn. 
But as she nears her journey's ending, lo ! 

A folded door is suddenly flung wide ; 
Out on the dark great waves of splendor flow. 

Flooding the thicket with effulgent tide. 
And now the pilgrim's crown looks all aglow. 

The thorns still thorns, but, ah ! how glorified ! 



31 



LOWLANDS. 

As one who goes from holding converse sweet 

In cloistered walls with great ones of the past, 

And steps, enwrapt in visions high and vast. 
To meet his fellows in the noisy street ; 
So we, descending from the mountain's height. 

Feel strange discordance in the world below. 

Is this the calm that there enchanted so ? 
It cannot be that we beheld aright. 
But courage ! not for ever on the mount ; 

Far oftener in the valley must we move ; 

The things that lie about us learn to love. 
And for the work allotted us account ; 

Content if, now and then, we track above 
The tumbling waters to their placid fount. 



32 



SONNETS OF FRIENDSHIP. 



I 



LATE HARVESTS. 

Three-score and ten have ripened to four-score ; 

The shadows longer reach ; the sunset nears ; 

But He who fills the measure of thy years 
Full to the brim, pressed down and running o'er. 
Sows as He gathers, scatters while He reaps ; 

Counting the fruitage of the life we see 

Only as seed of harvests yet to be 
In the fair fields his loving-kindness keeps. 
To Him we look. To whom if not to Him? 

For little hath He left in age to thee. 

And little hath He left in youth to me. 
Save his own promise that the eyes here dim 

With mists of sorrow shall have vision free. 
And lips now silent pour their morning hymn. 



35 



ISAAC. 

*' And Isaac went out to meditate in the field at eventide." 

Genesis xxiv^ 6j. 

A lonely spirit by sad thought opprest. 

With few to comfort, none to understand. 

The Son of Abram thirsted for the land 
Where there remaineth for God's people rest ; 
The far-off land beyond the sunset's glow. 

The golden land where happy saints abide. 

And ofttimes in the field at eventide 
He questioned with himself, and longed to go. 
Why should he tarry ? She whom best he knew 

Whom most he prized, whose love no shade of doubt 
Had ever touched, so fond it was and true. 

No more among the tents went in and out. 
But where the trees on Ephron's acre grew 

Lay silent, sepulchred by hands devout. 



36 



ISAAC AND REBEKAH. 

*' And Isaac brought her into his mother Sarah's tent, and took 
Rebekah and she became his wife ; and he loved her j and Isaac 
was comforted after his mother's death." Genaii xxi'v, 67. 

Upon his gloom her smile like sunshine fell ; 

Into his life her voice with music came ; 

From out dead embers sprang a living flame ; 
The thirsty camels, at her father's w^ell. 
Drank not more eagerly, beneath the spell 

Of her sw^eet presence, vi^aters that she drew. 

Than he her love, w^hose w^orth none other knew. 
And knovi^n v\^as w^ealthier than tongue might tell. 
Her meekness hallow^s every slightest deed. 

Her quick compliance half-vi^ay meets his virill. 
Her anxious care foreknows his every need. 

Her patience w^aits upon his weakness still. 
No longer sorrow's slave, nov^ shall he lead 

Such life as doth all righteousness fulfill. 



37 



"AMONG THE KINGS.'* 

"And they buried him . . . among the kings." 

// Chronicles xxi-v^ i6. 

**Yes, lay him down among the royal dead. 

"His steady hand no more the censer swings. 
"For kingly was he, though a priest," they said. 
Great-hearted friend ! thee, too, we counted bred 

For priesthood loftier than the tardy wings 

Of souls content with songs the caged bird sings 
Are wont to soar to. Thine it was to wed 

Far-sundered thoughts in amity complete ; 
With Christ' s own freedom fettered minds to free ; 

To thrid the darkling paths where timid feet 
Faltered and slipped. Oh, it was not in thee 

To blanch at any peril ! Then most meet 
That thou among the kings shouldst buried be. 



38 



CYPRESS AND HOLLY. 

Across the voice of children piping clear 

Their welcome carols to the Prince of Peace, 

Broke sudden-sharp a cry that bade us cease 
From wreath and song and all the season's cheer; 
For lo ! unto our feast had one drawn near 

Who with the Christmas angels mateth ill ; 

And there had faded from that presence chill 
A life just made by new life doubly dear. 
Then through the church of All Saints, now most still. 

This sentence sounded on a listening ear : 
"Peace ! It is well ! Even thus must she fulfill 

**His purpose whom we worship without fear. 

"The first of brides to speak her promise here, 
**She leaves us at the Heavenly Bridegroom's will." 



39 



THE HOUSE MOTHER OF ST. FAITH'S. 

The throne, the crown, the sceptre, — have we lost. 
In losing these, the queen ? I tell you Nay. 
Vanished the baubles, but in endless stay 

Abides the queenship ; holding not by boast 

Of armored fleet, or quartered shield or ghost 
Of right divine or by a long array 
Of maxims of the law, but in their way 

Who seeming least to rule us, rule us most. 

Her crown a circlet of transfigured thorn. 
Her throne the lowliest seat, her rod 

A southern lily, and her realm a home, — 
She lived among us queen by grace of God 

Unto the purple through the spirit born. 

Hearken ye, daughters ! Hear ye not her **Come" ? 



40 



THE PLOUGH IN THE FURROW. 

Friend of the open hand, the genial eye. 

The lip that faltered never, — where art thou? 
We cannot think thee idle, though the plough 

Half-way the furrow thus forsaken lie. 

Thou didst not loose thy grasp for lack of high 
And purposeful endeavor, for till now 
No laggard glance from under that clear brow 

Fell backwards cast. Oh, why then wouldst thou die ? 

Thus broke the answer: "God hath other fields 
**Than those ye know. His sunlight and his rain 
**Fall not alone on the remembered earth ; 

" But here, as there, the duteous harvest yields 
** Reward to all; and I am glad again, 
"Tilling the land of this my newer birth." 



41 



FROM GREEN MOUNTAIN. 

I. 

Two seas our eyes beheld — one dark, one light; 
And one above the other ; for a screen 
Of billowy" cloud lay, level-poised, between 

Ocean and sky, in undulation white 

As snows of Zembla. Half-way up the height 

That caps Mount Desert, spell-bound by the scene. 
We stood and marvelled. Had there ever been. 

Since Israel's pilgrim march, so weird a sight? 

Meanwhile the sailors, beating to and fro 

On shadowed waters, dreamed not of the still. 
Pellucid beauty of that upper day ; 

Their captive eyes saw only from below. 

While we, from our sheer lookout on the hill. 
Scanned either level, happier-placed than they. 



4a 



FROM GREEN MOUNTAIN. 

II. 

Brief our advantage ; presently the sun, 

Nearing the noon-mark, gathered all his might. 
And smote those vapors till they broke in flight ; 

Not hastily, for panic there was none. 

But with slow movement Eastward, one by one. 
The cloud battalions drifted from our sight. 
Till everywhere, from verge to verge, was light ; 

And those below saw clear, as we had done. 

God shows enfranchised spirits, such as thine. 
Dear friend, dear brother, who beside me stood 
That morning on the mount, both sides of things ; 

The dim, the bright ; the earthly, the divine. 
Spirits in shadow see but one. Oh, would 
The days were born of which the Sibyl sings ! 



43 



GARONDA. 

<* Peace to this house." More quick than echoes are. 
Attendant voices bring the sure reply. 
"Peace/* sings the brook. <* Peace," the great 
fir-trees sigh. 

"Peace," say the ancient mountains from afar, — 

While broods above their purple rim the star 
Earliest to trespass on the evening sky. 
As if intent to utter, ere she die, 

A blessing earth might neither make nor mar. 

Garonda, to these benedictions grand 

Would I mine own in humble sequence add, — 
May He who maketh sorrowful, yet maketh glad. 

Bless thee with blessings more than we can dream ; 

"Gate of the mountains," opened by that hand. 

Thou a Gate beautiful shalt grow to seem. 



44 



THE GOLDEN WEDDING. 

Not like the alchemist in mystic cell 

Attent on transmutation, make we bold 

By sudden touch to startle into gold 
What common were, did not such stroke compel. 
But, as the wand of evening knows full well 

How from slant sunbeams when the clouds are 
rolled 

Against the West to draw the tints they hold, 
(Hues unresponsive to noon's feebler spell,) 
So from the wealth of half a hundred years. 

The stored up love of household and of kin. 
The total of all wedlock's joys and tears. 

Time lures, to-day, the lustre hid within. 
What slumbered wakes, what latent was appears. 

For, lo, these lives have alway golden been. 



45 



THE CHILD'S SUPREMACY. 

A DREAM. 



THE CHILD'S SUPREMACY. 

A DREAM. 

From ridge to ridge of ocean, all day long. 
Lifted and pushed by giant arms and strong 
Full puffs of giant breath, our ship had sped 
With only blue beneath and blue overhead. 
Then, as I westward gazing watched the day 
In brightening color burn its life away. 
My thought ran out beyond the twilight rim 
Breathed into shape half canzonet, half hymn. 

I. 

Ah ! whither moves the world, and who is King ? 

I hear the click of wheels, and mark 
The solemn pendulum of Nature swing 

From dark to light, from light to dark. 
And wonder Who is King ? 

49 



II. 

Ah ! whither moves the world, and who is King ? 

Tell me, ye mountains, stands the throne 
In some high solitude where eagle's wing 

Or the wild goat's quick foot alone 
May find the hidden thing? 



III. 

Ah ! whither moves the world, and who is King ? 

Thou watchful star that dost patrol 
The regions of the twilight, canst thou bring. 

Through heavenly space, my vision to the goal 
Of earth's long wandering? 



IV. 

Ah ! whither moves the world, and who is King ? 

Doth iron Doom the sceptre keep ? 
Or golden Love ? No answer can I wring 

From earth or sky. Mysterious Deep, 
Dost thou know Who is King ? 



Scarce had the sea-breeze snatched the questioning cry. 
Before a voice, not loud, but wondrous clear. 

And heavenly sweet withal, gave back reply, 

"Voyager, take heart. The Hand that holds the 

sphere 
"Shall wisely guide. The night is deepening here ; 

"But pass with me yon faint horizon's ring 

"And thine own eyes shall tell thee who is King.'' 

Eager to catch the fashion of a lip 

Whose spoken word such gentle trespass made, 

I instant turned ; when, lo, the laboring ship. 
As if a mystic spell were on her laid. 
Began straightway to shrivel, shrink, and fade. 

And masts and spars and shrouds and smoke-stack all. 

As in a sick man's dream, grew small, and small ; 

Until within a tiny skiff alone. 

Still heading towards the East, I seemed to be. 

How moved I know not, up that pathway strewn 
With spangles of bright silver, largess. She, 
Empress of waters. Queen of oceans three. 

Flings from her chariot to the subject waves. 

To charm them to forget themselves her slaves. 
5' 



Thus o'er the darkling reaches of the sea 

We shot our moonlit course, the Voice and I, 

For though he spake no other word to me. 
By subtlest sympathy I knew him nigh. 
As friends who sit and watch the embers die 

On some old hearth-stone, all the closer feel. 

While night and silence slowly on them steal. 

Full on the bow at last rose up a cliff, — 
An island-cliff, majestic, solemn, lone : 

And much I marvelled. Would my fragile skiff 
Be shattered on the inhospitable stone. 
And all my hope of looking on the throne 

Be shattered too, and I, a shipwrecked thing. 

Perish forlorn, nor ever see the King ? 

Then, as I braced me for the approaching shock. 
And through the dimness strained my eyes to see 

If anywhere the edges of the rock 

Gave hope of foothold or escape for me ; 
A sudden clearness set my vision free. 

And I beheld the cliff's huge frontage wrought 

With carven imagery more fair than thought. 
52 



A palace- temple builded high it stood. 

And all its lines shone lucid through' the night. 

Pouring their radiance o'er the unquiet flood. 
Until the very wave-tops, 'neath the might 
Of a new influence enchanted quite. 

Sank down, content to lie and bask awhile 

In slumbrous idleness before the isle. 

Then had my eye full leisure to take in 

The marvellous beauty of the fabric's plan. 

Though still I failed to guess had Nature been 
The easy builder there, or toilsome Man. 
In such wild symmetry the outline ran. 

Surely the forest's Architect, I said. 

Hath done this thing, yet Man remembered. 

Meantime my boat across that tranquil space 
Shot gendy-swift towards where the eye looked 
through 

A porch magnifical, in all the grace 
Of just proportion lifted, and to view 
Like rock-ribbed StafFa's basalt avenue. 

Whence issuing with wild scream the frightened gull 

Seeks calm lona o'er the waves of Mull. 

53 



But on the moment when the pointed prow 
Touched soft the threshold of that portal fair. 

The voice that had been silent until now 
Bade me alight and climb the gradual stair 
Which in and upwards rose before me there. 

"For soon,'* he said, "thy footsteps shall I bring 

"Into the very presence of the King." 

Then quickly I alighted, and I clomb. 

Half-sad, half-glad, the stair, ascending slow. 

In tremulous joy as one who to his home 

Comes from long absence, fever-sick to know 
Whether there wait within some deadening blow 

Of grief untold, or whether he shall hear 

The children's laughter ringing loud and clear. 

When to the topmost step I came at last. 

Two massive doors in curious sculpture wrought 

Swung slowly on their hinges, and I passed 
Within that place. Ah, how shall I be taught 
To tell in language of this earth the thought 

With which that vision did my being bless. 

Of pure, unutterable loveliness. 
54 



No pavement of insensate stone I trod. 
But smooth and soft and beautiful it lay. 

An emerald-hued, sweet, daisy-sprinkled sod. 
Most like the flooring of that minster gray 
Whose roofless walls stand open to the day. 

Whilst chattering rooks the ivied windows throng. 

And from the Wye comes back the boatman's song. 

From out the turf sprang tree-like pillars tall. 
Whose topmost branches interlaced o'erhead. 

Made the high ceiling of that wondrous hall. 
So high, the firmament itself outspread 
Scarce higher seems when on his mountain bed 

Amidst the heather doth the shepherd lie 

And wakeful watch night's golden flock go by. 

Through all the place there floated mystic light. 
That seemed not born of sun, or moon, or star ; 

And whatsoever thing it touched, grew bright 
As the snow-caps on distant mountains are. 
When up their outer slope the hidden car 

Of rosy morning clambers, and the pale. 

Chill spectres of the mist desert the vale. 
55 



And in and out among the pillars walked 

Groups of fair forms who seemed familiar there. 

And to each other in low murmurs talked. 
And cheerily the birds sang every where ; 
And all, I knew, were joyous, for the air. 

Laden with gladness, redolent of balm. 

Into the very soul breathed mystic calm. 

No painted blazonry the windows held. 
But out through broad fenestral arches ran 

Deep vistas rich with all the life of eld. 

So ordered that the curious eye might scan 
Whate'er had happened since the world began. 

And pictured see, in true perspective cast. 

The long tumultuous epic of the past. 

Here frowned the rough beginnings of the earth. 
Grim monsters, growths of that forgotten day. 

When first the brute came hideous to birth. 

And wallowing, gorged with surfeit of the prey. 
Dragon and saurian 'mid the rushes lay. 

To watch dull-eyed the burdened storm-cloud creep 

Angry and low across the untra versed deep. 
56 



Elsewhere beheld, embattled armies met. 

And squadrons wheeled, and pennons shook afar ; 

Here flashed the lance and there the bayonet ; 

Now Greek, now Roman, drave the conquering car ; 
And now the sword beat down the scimitar. 

And through the cities of the sacred coast 

The mailed crusader smote the Paynim host. 

Then was I sad to see how all the life 

That had been lived on earth was full of woe ; 

How brute with brute, and man with man, at strife 
Had wrought themselves perpetual overthrow ; 
And the tears started, "Shall I ever know 

"Pain's mystery?" I asked, in querulous tone. 

"Peace,'' said the Voice, "thou hast not seen the 
throne. ' ' 

With that, I turned me from the pictured past. 
The griefs and glories of all time gone by. 

And eastward up that presence-chamber vast. 
Expectant gazed, when burst upon my eye 
The throne itself, yes, lifted up and high 

There stood the throne, with cloud-like glories piled. 

And on it sat the King, — a little child. 
57 



A little child of form supremely fair. 
All kingliness plain writ upon his face, 

I could not choose but give Him homage there ; 
One hand I saw a lily-sceptre grace. 
And one was lift in blessing on the place. 

Close to his feet a tender lamb had crept. 

The lion's tawny whelp beside it slept. 

As wells the sea in cool Acadia's bay. 

With sudden impulse, full, majestic, strong. 

Each nook and hollow flooding on its way. 

Swept, while I looked, an affluent tide of song. 
Far off the choirs began it, then the throng 

Beneath the arches gathered caught the strain 

And the loud antiphon rolled back amain. 



SONG. 

The weary world at war. 

Too sad to sing. 
Knows not how, throned afar. 

The little child is King ; 
58 



But frightened kneels to pay 

A worship cold 
To giant hands that may 

Such reins of empire hold. 

{Antiphon.) 
O foolish world, to lie. 

And dream so ill ! 
O hapless man, whose eye 

Such cheating visions fill ! 
So, singing still, we pray. 

And praying sing. 
Haste, Child, the golden day 

When all shall know thee King. 

The tramp of armies shakes 

The trembling earth. 
From field and fortress breaks 

A smothered flame to birth ; 
Across our tranquil light 

The flashes fly. 
As on a summer's night 

Pale, voiceless lightnings die. 

59 



{Antiphon.) 
The lips that curse shall bless. 

Sad earth, at length 
Thou shalt see gentleness 

Overmaster strength. 
Thy multitudinous voice 

Our anthem ring : 
Rejoice ! Rejoice ! Rejoice ! 

The little child is King. 

Then to their rope the laughing sailors turned 
And hove the log, while all the furrow burned 
In phosphorescent splendor, and the white 
Auroral spear- tops hedged the North with light. 



60 



DEC 27 1898 



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